Should've Been Me
by Laser Lance 720
Summary: Percy died in the battle of Hogwarts and Fred can't shake the feeling that it's his fault. He should have been the one to die, not his brother.


Written for **Transfiguration** (Switch two cannon facts and write a story around this Switch: Percy dies in the battle of Hogwarts, Fred survives instead), **Variety of Prompts** (Occasion: Funeral)

Warning for slight alcohol and sleeping draught abuse.

-oOo-  
-oOo-  
-oOo-

Fred hadn't really slept since that night at Hogwarts nearly a month ago. It wasn't for lack of trying. He was downing Sleeping Draughts like an addict, but he still was unable to sleep longer than four hours at a time. His mother was beginning to worry. She was getting even less sleep. It was understandable. She was the one having to bury her son at the end of the week.

He couldn't look at her. Couldn't look at any of them.

He blamed himself. The others most likely blamed him as well. They should. After all, it was his fault; had he not been standing there, had Percy not had to push him out the way, had he been paying just a little more attention…

The what if game never got anyone anywhere, but Fred kept playing it. He knew it wouldn't bring Percy back. Nothing would bring their brother back to them. But part of him worried that if he stopped replaying that night, stopped trying to sell his own soul for his brothers, that it would really be the end.

He knew he was meant to die that night at Hogwarts, not Percy. Not sarcastic, naive, all too rule abiding Percy who was always meant to live a long life of boring facts and biting humor. He would have made a difference in the world. He would have helped rid the corruption from the system. Made the world a better place. Percy was destined to bring about real change.

All Fred did was make stupid toys and useless gadgets. He was useless to this world. He was replaceable after all. He could have died that night and he doubted the world would have stopped. After all, there was always George to continue on. George to carry on their legacy. George to replace him.

No one was there to replace Percy.

There was a hole in the world where Percy was meant to be. And Fred couldn't help but blame himself for that.

He could hear George closing up the shop downstairs. Post War Diagon Alley had really sparked back to life, the joke store being on the forefront of that light. Still, Fred just didn't see his work as enjoyable as it had once been. It was empty now. Pointless.

He curled up in his bed, watching through his window as the street of Diagon Alley began to slow for the night. Their mother had wanted everyone together for the week. Fred couldn't do it though. He couldn't be there to shoulder their blame. George had agreed to stay at the flat with him, something Fred wished he hadn't done.

With ears perked to his brother's movements, Fred waited until he heard George enter into the flat. He held his breath as the noise of George moving about came through his closed door. It was about half an hour before George finally left what Fred assumed was the kitchen, and could be heard moving to the opposite end of the flat where his bedroom was.

The flat fell silent as his brother closed his bedroom door. He didn't even say goodnight. Not that Fred really expected it. They hadn't spoken much in the last month beyond what was necessary for work and living together. It was like they were moving on two different planes, only rarely crossing one another. Fred didn't try to let it bother him.

Rolling over in bed, he grasped the handle to his night stand and pulled the draw open. There was a clanging of bottles hitting one another, but Fred was used to the sound of glass on glass. Reaching in, he pulled out one of the bottles. The liquid inside was appetizing. It glistened in the dim light coming from his window. Uncorking it, Fred tipped it back and allowed a swig to go down his throat.

The label warned no more than one swing. But Fred didn't remove the bottle from his lips. In fact, he took three more swallows before finally shoving the cork back on and dropping it back in the draw.

Dropping back into bed, he waited for the potion to kick in and take him to sleep. Fred laid there for hours before he finally dozed off. Taking one last look at the clock on the wall, making note that it was now almost ten, he prayed he could get a few hours of sleep before he had to get up.

He wouldn't sleep for long that night.

-oOo-

Wednesday afternoon brought about children eager to empty the money from their pockets in exchange for fake vomit and vanishing ink. Fred didn't leave from behind the counter. He couldn't, he was using the blasted thing to keep him standing. Sleep had not been in company last night. He would have to up the dosage of Sleeping Drought if he wished to get anywhere.

The day dragged on. It was a God sent when the store finally closed for the night. George tried to get him to talk. He was going out that night. Something about meeting up with Ron and Harry for drinks. Fred encouraged him to go, but he would stay behind. Illness, he confessed, stomach ache. George gave him a raised eyebrow in worry, and tried to press. Fred only waved his brother off, asking him to lock up the store before he left.

His part in the conversation ended there when Fred finished counting the money in the register and started to climb the steps to the flat. George was behind him, pressing further in worry. Fred only waved him off, not bothering to pick up a late dinner from the kitchen before shutting himself in his bedroom. He slid down, his back pressed against the hardwood as a knock ran through it.

He could hear George on the other side. He offered to cancel and stay. Fred argued against it. Harry and Ron were expecting him. And he would be fine without his brother babysitting. After all, Fred was just going to sleep – that was a lie of course.

George didn't seem impressed by this lie, but didn't press further. He told him to get ahold of him if anything happened. Fred agreed and waited until George left the other side of his door. He sat there on floor until he heard George calling out that he was leaving. Fred didn't replay, only waited for the door to close and silence to fall over the flat.

Rising from the floor, he didn't bother changing out of his clothes. Instead he dropped into bed, opening the draw and pulling out a veil all in one motion. Uncorking the lid, he rolled over and allowed the liquid to seep over his tongue.

Four swings. The bottle was empty now, and he sat it on the night stand. Lying flat on his back, Fred stared at the ceiling and prayed for sleep to come.

-oOo-

Thursday ran long into the night. It was Tonks and Remus' funeral. Fred had barely been able to keep himself standing as they lowered the young couple into the ground. It was a quiet funeral, aside from the loud cries. Teddy had bawled half way through, but it was more out of infant discomfort than the child actually knowing what was happening.

Harry had tried to fight the tears, but he hadn't been able to. Had it not been for Ginny at his side, Fred was sure the Boy Who Lived wouldn't have made it through the ceremony. Not that he blamed him, he knew what the two meant to him. He knew what the two had meant to everyone in attendance.

Fred was tired of funerals. Every week they seemed to be in a graveyard burying someone they loved. It wasn't fair. They had won after all. They had come out victorious, so why were they forced to suffer and bury those they loved? It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.

That night, Fred cursed the war. He cursed the Death Eaters and all who didn't have to attend funerals. He cursed the Gods. And above all, he cursed Percy.

Downing half a bottle of Sleeping Draught, he lay awake long into the night, cursing anything that would hear his voice. When he finally fell asleep, he cursed the nightmares that would fight against the clearly defective potion.

-oOo-

They were all gathered at the Burrow that Friday. Percy's funeral was to be the next day, and mother wanted all of her children together. All her remaining children, Fred thought darkly.

The home he had grown up in now seemed empty. That alone was a startling feeling. There had never been enough room growing up. The house was huge, new sections added on haphazardly with the expansion of the family. But it had always been cluttered with children's toys, and books, and other items. And children. There had always been noise and a commotion in a room at any given moment of time.

Now it was strangely quite. They were together in that house. Even Harry had come to stay the night. Dinner was a quite affair. Someone tried to talk, but conversation didn't last long. Fred looked forward to the day ending.

When it did, he stumbled his way into his old bedroom. The bed was just a little too small for him, but Fred didn't mind. He was curled into a ball, the now empty bottle of Sleeping Draught wrapped tightly between his shacking fingers. George was on the other side of the room, already sleeping. His brother had a talent for falling asleep, no matter what was happening. Fred envied that quality.

When he dozed off, it was only for a few hours. He awoke sometime before the sun rose due to a rather vivid night terror. He was covered in sweat, and tangled among his sheets on the floor. There was a pain in his hand. Putting them together, he felt the sticky liquid and sharp pain of glass embedded into the palm of his hand. He let a soft curse escape his lips.

Kicking the blankets away, he used the bed for support and shakenly climbed to his feet.

George was still snoring, oblivious to what his brother not fifteen feet away. Fred left the room in search of the bathroom. He had moved out of his childhood home only a few years ago, and already he forgot where the bathroom was.

After a few minutes of searching, he found it and pushed his way in. Running the cold water from the sink faucet, he tried to suppress the groan as he put his bleeding hand under it. It stung, but he pushed the pain aside. Reaching his other hand out, he tried to ignore the blood mixing into the water as he pulled the large shards of glass from his skin. He assumed he'd fallen asleep still holding that bottle, and had squeezed just a bit too tightly. He was thankful the shards had broken in easy to remove pieces. He could fix this on his own.

Removing the last shard, he kept his hand under the water until it began to run clear once more. Grabbing a rag from the shelf, he wrapped it tightly around his hand. It was good enough.

Leaving the bathroom, Fred blinked in weariness. He made his way back to his bedroom. His sleep deprived mind told him this was the right door. Pushing his way into the room, Fred didn't bother to look around before climbing back into bed.

He lay there in silence before it really clicked in his mind. Shifting in the bed, he looked across where George was meant to be sleeping. His brother wasn't there. Nobody was there. The room was empty. There was a coldness that sat over him as he pulled the pillow tightly under his head. It smelled like cinnamon and peppermint. Two smells that were characteristic of Percy's shampoo.

Everyone was bunked up for the night, and this room, Percy's room, had been left empty.

Fred chocked back a sob as he buried his face in the pillow. It didn't seem right to have an empty room at the Burrow. It wasn't his place to be in this bed though. After all, it was Fred's fault that this bed would now be empty. He knew he should have left the room, but he just couldn't.

His body was drained. Even crying right now was taking more energy than he really had.

Fred slept there that night. Not sleep really, but as close as he had gotten. He made sure to be up and back in his own bed before anyone noticed.

-oOo-

The funeral was quick. There wasn't any overdone speeches or overblown moments. It was to the point, like Percy would have wanted. In fact, Fred felt the whole funeral really embodied Percy. The man would have been happy with the way it had taken place. As happy as someone could be about their funeral that is.

There was a family gathering at the Burrow afterwards. They all gathered around, reminiscing the best moments of Percy. They all spoke of his dry sense of humor. His crisp, to the point sarcasm which they had often missed. His need for things to be straight and organized.

Fred couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand the way their eyes feel on him whenever they thought he wasn't looking. They blamed him. He knew it. His mother had barely looked at him that day. He didn't blame her. After all, he should have been the one in the ground.

He left early. Walked to the other side of the Burrow and apparated home. The silence of his flat stung. He didn't have their pity and hateful eye on him anymore, so the silence was welcomed.

On his way to his room, Fred grabbed the bottle of Firewhiskey. He needed it badly. Slamming his bedroom door behind him, he cast a strong locking charm before tearing open his draw and eyeing the Sleeping Draughts.

He just wanted to sleep. His body felt like it was caving from the inside. He was seeing spots and stumbling with each step. He was running low on sleep, and what little sleep he was getting only seemed to tire him more. Grabbing out a bottle, he uncorked the liquid and looked at it.

He had a potion of some sorts in either hand. Setting the Sleeping Draught down for a second, he eyed the Firewhiskey. Fred threw his head back, chugging the burning liquid. It seemed to wake him and he kept drinking until he was gasping for air and chocking. Setting the bottle down, he turned to the other potion.

He debated as he looked between them both. One would wake him and the other would put him to sleep.

He didn't know which the worst option right now was. Being asleep would mean nightmares. It would mean reliving that night all over again and seeing Percy's broken body under the heavy concrete. It would mean seeing the rare smile which had been on his older brother's face staring back at him as if in a taunt.

Being awake would mean dying of guilt. It was plaguing his every though. This wasn't what life was supposed to be. Once more, he prayed to whatever God would listen to rewrite time and take his life instead. Maybe then, he would find peace and rest from this biting quilt. If he kept drinking that alcoholic sin, he would definitely find peace.

He didn't know how long he sat there trying to decide which to drink first but after a while there was the sound of someone in the apartment. He could hear his brothers calling his name. They had noticed him missing from the Burrow. Someone was pounding on the door, and he could hear a voice begging him to open the door.

He didn't know who was calling to him. Whoever it was, he sounded like Percy in his mind. His brother's voice rung in his ears with that naturally sarcastic quality that he had once hated. Now he missed it.

Someone was fighting with the doorknob, trying to break the locking charm on it.

Fred closed his eyes, putting the bottle up to his lips. He stopped listening to the sound behind him and concentrated on the liquid flowing over his tongue. The sound of his voice being called grew faint as he began to slip out of it.

He barely heard the sound of his door being blown off its hinges. Several pairs of feet entered his room. Someone yanked the bottle from his hands. Charlie was in front of him, slapping his cheeks to bring him out of his buzz. They were yelling at him, begging him.

Fred wasn't really listening. They were pleading for him to talk to him. For him to open up. But they wouldn't understand. None of them would. After all, how do you explain to your family that you were meant to be dead? That something had been switched and your brother had wrongfully died in your place.

He was reaching for the bottle when his brothers pulled him to his feet. They supported him as they brought time from the dark room and into the front room. Fred bit back the groan at the blinding light. He almost reached for it, wondering if this bright light was what Percy had seen.


End file.
